Horror of our Love
by CutTheShitShowYourTits
Summary: "My sweetest crush, you're perfect now!" For MCP and MSL.
1. Lucy

**I hope you enjoy it.**

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If you're reading this, I'm more than likely dead.

The night was dark, a mixture of black and a deep midnight blue. The moon, although large and bright white, reflected no shine or shimmer on the dampened streets that night. A few thick rain clouds began to build up on the edges of the city sky, threatening early morning rain. I took in a deep breath, smelling wet dirt and fallen winter leaves. The air was cold, freezing my nostrils and sending goosebumps up and down exposed pale flesh. I began to rush home, the late hours threatening thugs and dangerous activity. I normally didn't stay out so late, especially on Saturday nights. But tonight was my birthday, my twenty first birthday to be exact, and my friends decided tonight was the night I was going to taste-more like inhale- alcohol for the first time. And being a safe driver, I would not allow myself to drive home, and die from a stupid decision, like my sister did a few years back. Well, I had been walking a few blocks, only about ten minutes from my flat, when suddenly, I felt a grasp on the back of my jacket. Just a small tug, but forceful enough to make me realize it wasn't just the wind.

I turned, my heart beat picking up a few notches, expecting to see a knife or gun to my face, already getting my purse ready to hand over to some unshaven criminal, when I seen a girl, about nine years old, cold and shaking. She grasped the bottom of my jacket with weak and trembling fingers.**  
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"Help.." She coughed, blood shooting out onto the pavement. She was thin, with skin whiter than my own, and inky black hair that fell thin to her small waist. She wore a papery purple nightgown, obviously freezing in the winter air. I picked her up, her big dough blue eyes were drooping, and her skin was heating up.

"Do you know where your house is, or have a phone?" I asked frantically, regretting leaving my cell phone in my car. I looked around for someone else on the street, but everyone that was here a few minutes ago was...gone. The stores lights were off, their closed signs hanging in place. She began to cough harder, blood dribbling to her chin. My heart raced faster, hoping she didn't die in my arms. Her hand flew to her pajama pocket and pulled out a disposable phone, the screen glowing bright in the dark night.

"Dial one..." She whispered before finally passing out. Fingers trembling, I pressed one and hit enter, the dial tone buzzing loudly in my ear. Finally, I hear a click, and a faint, "Hello?" The voice was a mans, deep and somewhat...sensual. I shook my head, my body shaking, while trying to hold her up. Finally, I dropped to my knees and began sobbing into the phone.

"Please, help, this little girl is coughing blood, and told me to call you, but she's passed out and I don't know what to do." My sobs began to choke on every word, my drunken state not helping the situation. The man on the other end seemed to sigh, and he started to speak.

"My dear, you must calm down. She is sick, and needs to be home. She must have slept walked again, and got worse. Tell me where you are, and I will come and take her home." I nodded, sniffling and began to look around for street signs. Finally seeing one a block away, I didn't want to leave the girl unattended while I tried to read the name, so I hitched her over my shoulder, and began to quickly speed walk to the sign, reaching it, I read the name aloud.

"Morobough and Chestly." I slurred, My eyes darting to the end of each street, trying to find a kind face, or a thug wanting trouble. I heard a slam and the start of an engine, and a feint squeal of tires on the mans end of the phone.

"I'm on my way, Dear." I nodded and hung up, sitting on the floor again and wiping the blood of of the girls face with the sleeve of my coat. The green fabric turning black by my palms, small smears of red on my skin. I smoothed her hair out of her face, shaking her a little, to see if she would wake up.

"Is my daddy coming?" A small voice whispered to me. I looked down and smiled, hugging her small frame gently.

"Yes, he's on his way right now. Do you live close to here?"

"I..I think so, but I'm not sure. I just want my mommy and daddy here together with me." She looked scared, and snuggled closer to me. I smoothed her hair, and cooed to her sweetly, how my mother used to coo to me, during thunderstorms.

"Shh, sweetie, everything will be right back to normal soon. Everything will be okay." She stopped trembling, and sunk into me, weak from fear. I rocked her gently, when a black Volvo pulled up right next to us. A man, slim, and pale with long black hair and a crooked smile stepped out. He wore a white hoodie and black dress pants, and walked with a quick and sharp step. He looked down to me, and his daughter, and smiled happily.

"Lucy, Lucy, baby wake up." Her eyes opened, and smiled happily, throwing herself against his legs. He scooped down and picked her up into his arms, and they both hugged tightly, happy to be with each other again. I stood, not prepared for how tall this man actually was. He stared down a good two feet taller than I, making me feel about nine years old.

"Thank you for helping my Lucy. I was so worried," He started, opening the back seat door and placing her sleeping body inside. He buckled her in, and closed the door."

"It was no problem. If I can ask, what's wrong with her?" He slanted his head and laughed slightly. Soon, the laughter became hysterical, and my heart began to pulse faster.

"Oh, my lovely, there is nothing wrong with her. She's fine."

"But, the blood..."I began to spin in place, retracing the event, knowing this girl had been coughing blood, feinting. She couldn't have been just fine!

"Come and see for yourself." He held out his palm, to take my hand. I slid my fingers over his, and walked slowly to the car, to see the girl, unbuckled and door ajar, sitting on her knees facing me.

"Ready to go home now, mommy?" She asked. I turned, thinking her mother was behind me. But the man stood there, squeezing my wrist with a knife tipped to my neck. He pulled my body close, the top of my head resting under his chin, the knife gently biting into the skin on my throat.

"Yeah, ready mommy?" He whispered. A sob escaped my lips, and my knees buckled. I could see a million tiny stars flooding my vision, and soon, I couldn't see any thing at all.

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**Well, this took two days and countless cups of coffee.**

**hope you enjoy (:  
**


	2. Jeff

Danny,

I never really understood why I wanted to be a writer. I mean, who would really read anything I wrote down? No one listens when I speak, why they would care about what I put on paper, I couldn't answer you. But, when I started this pen pal ship with you, I couldn't stop writing, and re-writing, and re-writing again. I got addicted to the fact that someone was actually interested in what I had to say. So, I wanted to get better at it. I wanted to be able to sound the way I felt on paper. Old and deep and in thought. This is about the twelfth letter I've ever written you, hurray. But tonight, I'm frustrated. My parents keep yelling at each other, and I'm so focused on tuning them out, it's giving me a headache. Mom keeps saying something about a woman, and Daddy won't shut up about shutting up. I can hear Mom sobbing, and Daddy gets quiet, his feet shuffling to her. But she screams at him to get away from him. Then it starts all over again. I never really know what they fight about. Before, it used to be about money. Then, it bounced to Daddy cheating on Mom. Then Mom cheating on Daddy, then bills, then the car, then the house, then me. They fought about me a lot. About how I don't have a lot of friends, about how I'm not pretty or about how I'm too pretty. About my grades, and my posture and my music and personality and style. Mom's upset that I only wear black, and listen to The Doors, The Cure and Etta James. Daddy has no problem in it, as long as I'm not getting arrested or doing drugs. Moms sure I'm pregnant while Daddy's sure that I'm smoking weed. I never can be in the same room as them without them picking at me and poking me and probing me with stares and accusations and cheap blows and tricks. Sometimes, I'll just lock myself up in my room for days and write, calling the school pretending to be my mom and call in sick for me, faking ammonia or the flu, or the cold. I get my work done, and am passing all my classes. I just take a good few days and get all my feelings out on paper. And a lot of my frustration and anger, I write to you. I just don't send them. I just wish sometimes my parents would realize that I would like to be their daughter, but I'm trying too hard to remain myself. I guess that being me disappoints them, because they would rather me be Emily Rae Jameson. Their blonde haired blue eyed daughter. Their happy daughter. But I'm not happy, and it's because I have to be their daughter.

Love,

Emily


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